


Fire on the Ice

by Kaname



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: 2022 Winter Olympics, Alternate Universe - Sports, Birds, Hockey, Ice Skating, M/M, Olympics, Slight mentions of blood
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-22
Updated: 2015-03-22
Packaged: 2018-03-19 04:01:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,701
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3595569
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kaname/pseuds/Kaname
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>All Louis wanted was to get through the 2022 Almaty Olympics with his bones intact and his neck straining under the weight of a very shiny, very well-deserved Gold medal.</p><p>He got neither of these things.</p><p>But he did get Harry.</p><p>(Louis is a hockey player, and Harry is an up-and-coming ice-skater that rescues birds.)</p>
            </blockquote>





	Fire on the Ice

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tempe_harding](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tempe_harding/gifts).



> This is based on a prompt by the lovely tempe_harding!
> 
> I'm woefully ignorant about ice-skating, hockey, and the Olympics, so if there are any glaring errors, accept my sincerest apologies.
> 
> The story presumes that Almaty, Kazakstan will be selected for the 2022 Winter Olympics--I haven't the slightest whether this will actually happen, but it is one of the two finalists for the distinction.
> 
> Otherwise--enjoy!

They’d bloody made it to _Qualifiers_.

For the first time since 1948, the British Men’s National Ice Hockey team had made it to the _Olympic Qualifiers_ , and now here Louis was, on the first day on what was going to be the best week of his life, basking in the bright Almaty sun like a cat in a window.

Well, basking in the bright Almaty sun and fighting with some timid bellboy about whether or not he could carry his own baggage to the blooming flat.

But mostly basking.

This was to be the week of bliss. The week Louis _won_ and he  _basked_ , dammit. This was not to be the week Louis got brought up on assault charges because the Olympic staff were too pushy for his frayed nerves.

“Mr. Tomlinson, please just allow me to take you and your teammates’ bags up to your quarters,” came what must’ve been at least the third plea from an increasingly distraught bellboy. If Louis weren’t in such a foul mood, he may have just let the guy give it a go, if only to quiet his desperate protests.

But he _was_ in a foul mood, airplanes did that to a lad, so instead Louis rolled his eyes, knocking the boy lightly out of the way with his elbow. He grabbed the handle of his worn down, ragged black baggage to heft it out of the car boot.  “I’m not some damned ponce who can’t carry a bag,” was his answer. He made a ‘shooing’ motion with his free hand. “If you want to be useful, go help the Americans; they’re always looking for attention.

“Sir…” the boy began, then paused and bit his lip, glancing pointedly between Louis and the bag. The guy waited silently for another few moments, then thought better of arguing, turning stiffly away with an irritated huff.

Louis gave a relieved sigh. _Finally._ By the time Liam and Niall clambered out of the car the kid was already halfway to the flat where the American team was arriving.

“Lou, do try not to be a total prat while we’re here, yeah? Least, not to innocent civilians,” Niall was saying, giving him a chastising look while he slung his green rucksack over his shoulder. His bleach-blonde hair was squished messily up under a backwards red trucker cap with ‘GB’ printed on the front, pale tufts poking through the hole in the front a bit like a horn. “Wouldn’ta minded him taking these stupid things, to be honest, but I s’pose it’s too late now. Now come on, you tosser, let’s get settled in.”

A sleep-soft Liam had already collected his navy-blue dufflebag from the front seat and was in the process of silently stalking off toward flat number 4 (Liam didn’t do flights…at least, not _well_ ) when Louis heard a sharp, angry squawk from somewhere in the tree above him.

He froze, then pushed his bangs from his eyes and peered up through the leaves.

“’Ello!” A cheerful boy said in response to Louis’ startled expression, his smiling face and wide, bright eyes nestled in a halo of rich brown curls. He was sitting on a sturdy looking branch, holding a small, furiously screeching blue bird with both hands in his lap. “I’m Harry. Who’re you?”

Louis quirked a brow, rocking back onto his heels to get a better look at the nutter in the tree. The boy's slender frame was wrapped in a loose white t-shirt, a rainbow-coloured headband pushing his wild hair back and out of his sparkling eyes. His long legs were dangling freely in the air, boots knocking against the tree's crumbling bark.

Niall was eying him curiously from the sidewalk, but Liam was nowhere to be seen, probably already napping in the flat. Liam seriously did _not_ like flying. Louis cleared his throat, nervously fixing his wrinkled jersey. “Louis. Louis Tomlinson. Is there a particular reason you’re smothering a small bird at the top of a tree? Or is that just how you get your kicks around here?”

“He was injured, so I’m helping him down,” Bird-kid, _Harry,_ answered placidly, his voice slow and measured. People only talked like that when they were self-assured, and Harry sounded like he was fully confident that rescuing a bird was a proper reason to be up in a tree in the middle of the Winter Olympic village. His face broke out in another slow and absolutely devastating smile. “But, see, now I’m stuck up here.

“That’s truly awful." Louis blinked, looking quickly at the watch sitting loosely on his slender wrist. "Well, I best be going. Good luck, _Harry_ ," Louis swallowed and then he turned away, fumbling through his pockets to find his key to the flat. He was so close to a hot shower and a nap. He could practically _feel it,_ the warm water running over his tense muscles, the blankets wrapped around him like a soft, fluffy cocoon.

“Wait!” Harry-the-bird-saint screeched from his spot on the branch, but Louis had already gone, seduced by the prospect of cozy, quiet rest and a stomach full of something other than stale pretzels.

After all, it was the week of bliss.

Louis didn’t have time for gorgeous boys in trees. 

 

# ❀

           

“Niall, keep that kind of play up, mate. That was ace,” Liam was saying through a mouthful of granola bar, grinning and clapping Niall heartily on the back. Niall gave a bright smile, pulling down another swig of Gatorade and sponging the sweat from his forehead with a grimy white towel before dropping it down on the concrete next to Liam’s goalkeeping gloves.

They’d only just finished practice, and so far, the week of bliss was still fully intact. Niall had just pulled off a positively _mad_ goal that involved the kind angles and speed that haunted Louis’ dreams, so at the very least, they’d ended on a high note. The three of them were sprawled out on their bench, waiting for the others to finish destroying the opulently decorated locker room with sweat and dirty knickers before they even bothered to shower off.

It just wasn’t worth battling for space when he could just as easily hang out on the sidelines and chit-chat with his mates. Plus, this way, he could make use of a delightfully empty hot-tub later on, sans the trunks and judgement that other people tended to impose upon him.

“Thanks, Li,” Niall finally answered, then glanced past Louis with a strange and very slight frown on his lips. Niall's Gatorade began slowly migrating farther and farther from his mouth, eventually coming to a rest next to him on the floor. He zeroed his gaze in on a seat somewhere on the other side of the ice, leaning forward all the way to try and get a closer look at _something_. “Hey, Lou, who’s over there? Can you tell?”

Louis gave Niall a look, finally yanking off his skates and sliding his feet into a pair of dingy black Converse with a satisfied moan. He hadn't the slightest what Niall was going on about. The small crowd had left when practice ended. “Nialler, don’t go crazy on us now. Not when you’re just starting to get good at this “hockey” thing. We need your scrawny Irish arse if we want a shot.”

Niall waved a dismissive hand, still distracted. “Nah, I’m not crazy, ya git. There’s someone over there. _Look._ ”

Louis pushed a muttering Niall back, struggling to see where he was pointing. When he did finally manage make out what Niall’d been mumbling about in fractured sentences for a solid two minutes, he could hardly believe his own eyes.

“Harry?” He asked quietly, belatedly noticing a head of bouncy, dark curls peeking very subtly over the top of the wooden board on the side opposite their bench. He managed a slight wave, shrugging off a questioning glance from Liam, who had been too involved in something on his phone to notice that Niall and him were doing excellent meerkat impressions to try and get a look at some tree hobbit with a gorgeous face and questionable intentions.

When Harry eventually noticed that Louis was staring at him, his hand still raised in some uncomfortable semblance of a wave and still holding one of his skates, he jolted back into the metal seats like a startled deer and fled quickly out the exit without missing a beat.

“That the kid from earlier, yeah?” Niall asked distractedly, already moving onto the much more interesting prospect of snatching one of Liam’s granola bars from under the bench without him noticing.

“Yeah,” Louis answered, tilting his head and staring confusedly at the exit. “The kid from earlier.”

 

# ❀

 

“I’ve never seen him like this. It’s bloody weird,” Niall muttered, fresh from the shower, pulling on a clean white t-shirt in the shadowy hallway and popping over to the kitchen to open the microwave and grab his plate of reheated stir-fry. Louis and Liam were sitting at the granite bar, sipping occasionally on two cups of freshly-prepared Twinings. Louis did not go more than two hours without a cup of tea. It was practically law.

“Boys, _please,_ ” Liam whined, and Louis couldn’t help it, he laughed into his cup. Hard. There may or may not have been tea all over the countertop now. Poor tea. “You don’t understand. It’s just professional curiousity. He’s _talented._ Maybe we’ll pick up something that’ll help us when we compete.”

Niall snorted, swallowing a disproportionately large bite of stir-fry (Louis had seen at least _four_ of those tiny corn on the cobs alone on the bite's way to Niall's gaping maw) and pointing his chopsticks accusingly at Liam from across the countertop. “’Course I understand, ya twat. You want us to tag along so ya won’t look quite so desperate when _Zayn Malik_ sees you there all by your lonesome. And he’s so _dreamy,_ how could you bear the humiliation if he thought you were a loser?” Niall swallowed another bite. “You’re not going because you’re curious, ya lying sod.”

“I am curious, Niall!” Liam protested, in a manner than was wholly unconvincing.

Niall paused, then began making suggestive motions with his eyebrows and lightly stroking his chopsticks. Louis lost it at that, dropping his head to the cool granite and sniggering while Niall snubbed his nose high in the air, giving Liam a lewd grin. “A different sort of curiousity, then. I’ll give you that, your highness.”

 _“Niall,”_ Liam grumbled, sounding caught somewhere between annoyed and mortified. He anxiously sipped at his tea, trying hard not to turn the unattractive shade of red that he definitely already _was._ Louis snorted even harder than he knew was even anatomically possible. He grabbed Liam’s arm and pet it in a blandly reassuring manner.

“We’ll go Li, but don’t think you’re fooling us with this “professional curiousity” of yours,” he managed, barely, without bursting into another round of snickering. He slipped away from the bar, absently threw on a cable-knit jumper that he'd left on the chair, grabbed his phone and keys from the table, and took one last glance around the flat before he pushed his way into the balmy night air.

Niall has only just shoveled the last of his food in his mouth when he followed them out, making wet, kissy noises in Liam’s ear all the way to the rink.

 

# ❀

 

“You’re kidding. The tree kid’s a skater,” Niall murmured, to no one in particular. He sighed and pulled on the red jumper that he’d stubbornly tried to leave at the flat, but Liam had forced him into bringing. Liam really was probably the reason they hadn’t gotten themselves pneumonia, even if he was currently an endlessly besotted sod. “Dunno why I’m surprised, really. The artistic ones are always a bit nutters,” Niall went on, only really half paying attention to what he was saying.

Louis was silent, for once, his eyes trained on the graceful dancers navigating the ice. He wasn’t the only one, either. Though it wasn’t necessarily crowded, it wasn’t sparse. A couple of the other competitors had trickled in to watch, but there weren’t more than fifteen or so, all gathered up at the glass, quiet and careful not to break the skaters’ focus.

Liam ignored the both of them, his hooded eyes, unsurprisingly, focused intently on the dark-complexioned _supermodel_ that was the world famous figure-skater Zayn Malik as he finished a flawlessly executed axel jump on the opposite side of the rink. He looked every inch an absolute dream, his black hair pulled back in a loose and artistic bun, limbs free and fluid with every movement around the rink.

But Louis…Louis was too busy being enamored by the vision in green that was bird-saint-Harry to notice Zayn at all.

Harry’s long, lean body was graceful and agile as he glided out onto the ice, obviously fashionably late, greeting Zayn with a warm smile and a clap on the shoulder. The two of them exchanged a few jokes, leaning lazily up against the glass on the far edge, then split apart with a wave, Harry warming up with a few laps around the ice.

Niall raised a brow, sipping at a diet soda that he’d somehow procured from thin air and smirking at a barely functioning Louis. “You too, mate?”

Louis collected himself long enough to glare at Niall, swallowing the lump that had suddenly materialized in his throat. He shook his head and immediately pinned his gaze back on Harry, who was taking a long, languid path around the ice and looping back towards the three of them.“No. I’m just…”

Suddenly, Louis’ jaw grew too slack to finish his sentence. His heart skipped a beat, and his mouth went dry.

No way.

No. _Fucking._ Way.

Harry had just performed an absolutely _impeccable_ triple axel. Out of bloody nowhere. His lithe, elegant, tight little body had just coiled itself together on a whim and spun three and a half _bloody_ times in the air without any hesitation. _A_ _t all_.

Right in front of the glass where Louis was sitting.

Shit. That was rather uncomfortably hot.

Harry swiveled around on his skates, meeting Louis’ eyes and giving a not-so-subtle wink before darting off towards the center of the ice.

Niall snorted, giving the shell-shocked Louis an amused look from over his paper cup. “Sorry, mate. Looks like you’re definitely long gone, too.”

Louis didn’t even bother to deny it.

He didn’t know if he could even if he wanted to.

 

# ❀

 

It was just supposed to be a simple evening skate. An unassuming trip to the rink. A chance to move and stretch his stress-tight limbs with the familiar and addicting burn of acid pulsing through his muscles. A chance to have some alone time to contemplate this hopeless little crush he was getting on the bird savior with the perfect triple axel and the infectious, white-bright smile.

So of course it wouldn’t according go to plan. Because Louis’ week of bliss was beginning to slowly unravel, and he wasn’t sure what it was unravelling into yet.

It had started innocuously enough. He’d snuck out after Liam and Niall had crashed in the living room watching old Olympic hockey videos. It had been a quiet walk to the ice, the warm, muggy air of Almaty tugging at his jumper with just the slightest nip of a wind-inspired chill. The only thing Louis had with him was his skates, held together by his small fingers, which were woven tightly through the laces. Other than that, he was blissfully unattached.

Then he’d walked into the rink, and everything had gone awry.

A lone figure was already there, bathed in shadows and dim yellow light from the rafters, weaving its way around the ice, gracefully spinning a story with leisurely, fluid movements and perfectly polished spins.

He knew immediately who it was.

Against his better judgement, Louis tiptoed to the edge of the ice in his Converse, tugged on his skates, tossed his battered shoes beneath the bench, and pushed out to join him.

Despite years and years of time on the ice, bi-nightly games and evening skates with his sisters since they were all children, Louis felt clunky and clumsy next to Harry. Harry, who was so kind, and so gentle, and so, so soft. _Harry_ , next to Louis. Louis, who was so cranky and inelegant and _brash._ Louis, who didn’t rescue injured birds, but who instead terrified bellboys. Louis, who hadn’t even considered the possibility that Harry might have gone to practice yesterday to see _him._

Harry didn’t pause in the slightest when Louis floated up next to him. He just took Louis’ small, rough hands and began to lead him around the ice with the type of assurance trained into Olympic athletes from Day One.

Harry’s face was positively alight, and if he’d been pressed, Louis may have said in that, in that moment,  his bright, piercing green eyes and luminescent smile were powered by star-stuff.

“What’re you doing here?” Louis said quietly, dropping one of Harry’s hands to do a short, but surprisingly controlled, spin outward. Harry twirled him back in and caught him by his waist.. He dipped his head, breathing low and soft into Louis' neck.

“Could ask you the same question, Lou,” Harry answered finally, his voice low and gravelly, tickling against Louis’ skin in a way that sent his self-control into an absolute tail-spin. The nickname didn't do much for his supposed control either.

“I came for an evening skate, you ponce,” Louis tried, but his tone was hardly filled with its usual, high-quality snark. Instead, he sounded breathless. Off-balance. Harry guided him back out to arm's length. Louis could hardly breathe.

“Well, as did I. I am an Olympic figure skater, after all. You _ponce.”_ Louis could hear the grin in Harry’s voice as they trailed slowly around the ice, looking all the world like they were made for this. For each other. Smooth, even movements. A give and take. “Now, shut that pillowy-pink mouth of yours and skate with me. It’s the least you can do after you left me and my bird to die in that tree.”

The two of them stayed like that for what must’ve been hours, criss-crossing the rink, hands entwined and bodies pushing away and pulling together in an intricate, elegant dance. Jokes bouncing from the rafters like the light, laughter filling the hollow, silent space.

And if Louis was falling a little bit in love with this boy. With this marvelous, kind, sweet, beautiful boy...Niall didn’t have to know.

After all, woe was he to prove Niall Horan right.

  

# ❀

 

Louis couldn’t breathe.

One moment he was making for the net, his hips twisting and his stick pulled back to put more power behind the puck; the next he was sprawled out onto the ice, suffocated by a wave of unbearable pain and a sound he didn’t know a human-being could make tearing through his lips.

 _“Louis!”_ Came Niall’s panicked voice, the packed stadium suddenly falling into muted panic while the vague and almost inaudible baritone of an announcer began speaking quickly and in hushed tones. He could see that Niall had already torn off his helmet, kneeling down beside him, trying to get his attention through his quickly darkening vision. Liam was tearing off like a bullet from the opposite side of the ice, his gloves discarded next to the net, shepherding medics over to Louis’ limp body.

“Louis, mate, stay with me, yeah? Can’t have you going unconscious in the middle of Qualifiers. S’posed to be the best week of your life, remember? Can’t miss any of it.” He thought he could hear Niall’s voice being choked by tears, though he couldn’t be sure. Suddenly, his helmet was being yanked off my the medics, too, and a hysterical Niall was being marshalled away. The only sensation he could feel over the pain was a cool hand on his neck, taking his pulse.

His head lolled to one side, and he thought he could see blood pooling beneath his left leg, steaming and viscous on the ice. It was bent at a truly unnatural angle, and if he had the ability to pinpoint the source of what could only be described as mind-shattering pain, he knew he’d find that it was from that.

When his eyes wandered to the sidelines, he caught the doe-eyed stare of Harry, who was trying desperately hard to push his way through the referees guarding the entrance to the ice. He looked distraught, snarling at the men in a way that didn’t quite fit his face. Harry wasn’t meant to snarl. Harry was meant to smile and laugh and smirk. But never to snarl.

Louis managed to raise his hand against the ice in a desperately poor imitation of a wave, and at the motion, Harry broke down into tears.

“’Ello, Harry,” he murmured, then as suddenly as it had all started, everything went black.

 

# ❀

 

Some twat from the Canadian team had barreled right into him.

It wasn’t on purpose. No, this git was too stupid to have calculated something so stunningly effective. Louis was watching the replay footage on the flat’s telly, muttering angrily into his cereal while his leg was propped up on the coffee table. Now his name was splashed across headlines worldwide for all the wrong reasons, and they'd blooming _lost_ the game in overtime.

It was such a _dumb_ way for his first Olympics to end, and he was right furious about the whole thing. His leg had broken cleanly, so he’d likely heal without needing any surgery or too much physical therapy, but the bone had been jutting up through the skin when they hurried him off in a stretcher, so blood had been a bit of an issue.

“Right fucking stupid, this all is,” Louis muttered, while Liam set a handful of pills and a glass of water on the table next to his leg.

“We were worried about you, Lou,” Liam said quietly, then sat beside him on the couch, laying a gentle hand on his shoulder. “It didn’t look good at first. We thought maybe the bone had shattered and severed an artery. It was a _lot_ of blood.”

“I’m too stubborn to go like that,” Louis answered, unfazed, then shoveled another spoonful of cereal into his mouth.

“You should’ve seen Harry,” Niall put in, sitting in the chair next to the couch. “He was a right mess. Thought he was gonna punch out a ref if they didn’t let ‘im out on the ice.”

Louis wouldn’t let his heart leap hopefully at that. He wouldn’t remember the look in Harry’s eyes, and wouldn’t think about the pizza with a picture of a bird taped to the box that had been delivered this afternoon with a loopy “Get Well Soon!” scribbled on the inside, wouldn’t think about the way Niall had smirked when he’d handed it to him. Not until he knew how Harry felt about him.

“Since when do you know his name? I thought he was just “bird-kid” to you," Louis said, just to fill the silence.

Niall flipped the channel, an aerial view of the rink suddenly occupying the screen with a countdown clock in the bottom right-hand corner. “Since I found out Britain’s ice-darling is going for the Gold in Men’s Singles this afternoon.”  

Louis jolted, steadying his hands so he wouldn’t spill his cereal all over his lap. He’d totally forgotten about that. Traumatic injuries did terrible things to the memory, he'd learned. “When?” He was suddenly asking, frantically setting down the bowl and reaching for the wheelchair he’d folded up against the couch when they'd gotten home from the hospital last night. Full leg casts tended to make movement difficult without wheels, according to his doctor.

“’n an hour,” Niall answered smugly, helping Louis unfold his wheelchair then gently guiding him into it. “Liam had his boyfriend reserve us seats.”

Liam flushed, but didn’t seem particularly upset by the presumption. “He’s not technically my boyfriend, Niall,” he said, almost out of obligatory denial more than honest offence. “But yes, we have three seats in reserve for the handicapped space, Lou. If you want to watch.”

“Oh, I want to watch,” Louis was saying, before he could stop himself. He reached for the pills and swallowed them dry. No time for that 'single pill at a time with food and water, Mr. Tomlinson' nonsense. Not if they only had an hour. “C’mon, lads. We might not have a chance at Olympic glory anymore, but Harry’s got a medal to win.”

 

# ❀

 

There was no way to describe Harry’s routine other than _stunning._

It was so very _Harry;_ an elegant, technically challenging, feisty routine to a Lindsey Stirling song. His lean, taut body was positively radiant in a shimmering blue ensemble that caught the light in all the right places. He seemed so free, so unburdened, like this was where he belonged and he knew it, too. 

Louis was officially besotted with this kid.

So when, to the chorus of his rapidly beating heart, Harry was announced to have won the Gold, Louis was extraordinarily close to tears.

Liam squeezed his hand, evaluating Bronze medalist Zayn with a similarly smitten gaze. And if Louis dissolved into teary giggles when they placed the medal around Harry’s neck and he flashed a cheeky thumbs-up to the crowd, Niall had the presence of mind not to say anything about it.

“Lucky blokes, you two,” Niall whispered conspiratorially into Louis’ ear, when suddenly, the moment after the ceremony had officially ended, Harry was bounding towards the stadium stairs, tossing off his skates as soon as he’d left the ice and bee-lining straight for the three of them.

“You’re kidding,” Louis breathed, but before he could say anything else, he had a lap full of Olympic gold-medalist, long arms wrapping around is shoulders and even longer legs curled up on the uninjured side of his lap.

“Louis! You came!” was a very sweaty, very excitable Harry’s answer to Louis' startled expression when he’d untangled himself from the hug. His wheelchair creaked under the extra weight, and Harry laughed, blushing.

“’Course I came, you twit.” He smiled lightly, then took inventory of his leg, which was still sitting undisturbed in its brace. “Congratulations! Shouldn’t you be down on the ice, getting interviewed an all that? Or, you know, visiting with your mum?”

Harry pouted, then bit his lip with a mischievous smile and stroked Louis’ cheek.  “I wanted to see you more, yeah? I'll see me mum on the flight home.” His long fingers lingered on Louis’ skin, and Niall and Liam began tactfully shuffling away to go congratulate Zayn, Niall offering them a not so subtle wink. Which Louis forcefully ignored.

Harry gave him a considerate look, twirling a lock of Louis’ too-long hair between his fingers. “I was worried, you know. So, so worried, Lou.”

“As you can see, I made it.”

Harry frowned. “Yeah.”

But just as suddenly as the somber mood had descended on them, Harry was grinning again, twining their hands together and drawing patterns on Louis' palms. Louis' heart was practically a hummingbird, blasting away happily in his chest to an impossibly fast tempo. “You get my pizza?”

“I did. It was truly a masterpiece to behold," Louis responded dryly, then grinned.

Harry’s eyes glittered. “Am I going to get a thanks for that?”

Louis paused.

Oh, what the _hell_.

He winked, leaning in to close the distance between them. Just before their lips touched, Louis’ snorted “twat” against Harry's mouth, then wrapped his arms around the pliable and very, very willing boy in his lap. Like a warm, soft dream Harry melted into his arms, the weight of his medal heavy against Louis chest. Louis buried his fingers in that alluring head of dark, heavy curls and smiled into the kiss.

Louis may not have had his week of bliss.

He may not have had a Gold medal, or a fully-intact leg. 

But hell, he’d have traded it all for this moment, anyway.

 

# ❀

 

 

 

# ❀

**Author's Note:**

> The song Harry's routine is set to is "Shatter Me" by Lindsey Stirling.


End file.
